


I only want this day to end

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from Mycroft and Gregory's relationship during the events of "His Last Vow" and "The Abominable Bride".</p><p>Basically Mycroft is under a lot of pressure with the Sherlock situation and Lestrade is being a good boyfriend. Because damn Mycroft needs someone to hug him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Than A Bruised Ego

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-wonderful Dimar who said "I want to hug everyone" after reading chapter 1.

Greg Lestrade had survived another long and exhausting day at the Yard. Once upon a time going home would have meant to meet a wife who had little to no patience anymore for his copper life, icy glares and cold courtesy making sure that he knew exactly how she felt about him putting in overtime. A few years ago he would have returned to an empty bachelor’s flat, which - after he’d finally accepted that his wife wasn’t coming back - was actually an improvement. Today though, today Greg had something to look forward to.  
Not that living with a Holmes was easy. Mycroft wasn’t Sherlock and Greg didn’t have to check the fridge for body parts or deal with experiments in the microwave but the older brother could be every bit as irritating as his younger sibling. Mycroft Holmes was arrogant, pompous, and emotionally distant. All those things Sherlock said about his brother were true. But Mycroft Holmes also was extremely protective and loyal to a few selected individuals. He was highly intelligent, diligent, spent a painstaking amount of time working out details, and put all of that into the service of others. Mycroft might ‘be’ the British government but unlike a lot of people he understood that the government was nothing but the servant of its people. So although it wasn’t easy living with a Holmes, and although their work often kept them apart far more often than either of them liked, Greg knew exactly how lucky he was to have found a partner who not only loved and appreciated an aging copper like himself but who actually understood why work sometimes had to take precedence over family life.

Although he had put in extra hours, Lestrade was surprised to find his partner already at home.

“Slow day at the office?” Greg smiled despite being tired.

“Not exactly, but some days you just have to leave early.” Mycroft sat in his favourite armchair, an old leather monstrosity that was so comfortable it should be illegal. He held a glass of cognac in his right and his eyes stared into the fire somewhat unfocused.

Greg poured himself a glass and sat down in the opposite chair. “That bad? Can you talk about it?” He took a sip of the expensive and exquisite alcohol, letting the warmth running down his throat relax him.

The elder Holmes shook his head slightly, then turned his gaze towards Lestrade. There was no pressure there, only the offer to unload himself and for some unfathomable reason love. He smiled one of those rare genuine smiles that were reserved almost solely for the DI these days. “Thank you, Gregory.”

“For what?”

“Putting up with me.”

Lestrade snorted. “As long as it’s mutual I think we don’t need thanks.”

Mycroft leaned back into a more relaxed position. “How was your day?” He took a sip of the cognac, readying himself to just listen for a while.

Lestrade loved these quiet moments, when it was just the two of them. Mycroft would have been able to deduce everything his lover told him with a few glances, but he knew that Gregory sometimes needed to tell him things, share what happened to him voluntarily instead of having it extracted through the uncanny Holmesian ability to really ‘see’ what was in front of them. Also Mycroft enjoyed listening to Lestrade. The simple honest openness without any hidden agendas wasn’t something he found himself confronted with all too often. He himself almost always had multiple reasons for everything he did and if talking about his own day not only made Greg happy but also kept him from prying too much into Mycroft’s mood then all the better.

The evening was going well and after a quick dinner Greg had Mycroft halfway into the bedroom before he noticed something was off. The government official wasn’t exactly the poster child for being spry and flexible, but he held himself more stiffly than Lestrade had ever witnessed before.

“Are you OK?”

“Just a bit of a back problem, you know what a long day at the office will do.”

Only Mycroft had had an extremely short day at the office today. Did his lover really think so little of his intellect that he thought Greg had forgotten? He supposed it must be difficult for someone like Mycroft to anticipate a normal person’s capabilities in that department. He smiled although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well lucky for you I have hidden talents. Get your ass over to the bed and naked.”

“Really Gregory, I don’t think...”

“Oi, mind out of the gutter, Holmes. I have you know that I am the king of backrubs.”

If he really just had some stiff muscles like he claimed, then Mycroft should have been far more eager at that prospect. But although he acted as if he was grateful for his lover’s offer it was just an act. Greg recognized the small signs. Suddenly the other man acted almost coy while undressing, moving just so to keep certain parts of his body out of the policeman’s view. This was ridiculous of course. The two of them had been together for long enough that any shyness around each other had long since evaporated.

Mycroft lay down on his stomach on the huge, luxurious bed the two of them shared while Greg got some oil. When he returned to the bedroom, Lestrade was faced with a dilemma. He could act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, ignoring the tension he recognized in his lover as well as the slight bruise on his right forearm and just giving the promised backrub or he could confront Mycroft about something he clearly didn’t want to talk about even if he hadn’t outright said so. Well, Greg hadn’t made it to DI by avoiding confrontation.

“My? I think we need to talk.”

Mycroft sighed and buried his head in the pillows.

Lestrade grasped his left arm firmly but gently to pull him around, wanting to see the face of the man he was talking to. But although he was careful and avoided the bruised arm there was a sharp intake of breath, obviously from pain. Greg let go of the arm immediately.

“What happened?”

Although he clearly didn’t want to, Mycroft turned around to look into Gregory’s worried face.

“My, if this is some top secret bullshit I can’t know about then you have to say so.”

Another sigh and eyes closed in defeat... lying to the policeman would be so much easier. But he and Gregory were partners, he owed him at least that much honesty.

“Not exactly - do we have to talk about this?”

And there it was again, the proof that besides all of their brilliance there were some things neither of the Holmes brothers really ‘got’.

“Yes.” There was a finality to that simple syllable.

Still Mycroft tried to negotiate. “It’s just a pulled muscle and a little bruise.”

“Which you tried to hide from me. If it had been nothing but some stupid accident, you wouldn’t act this way. I’ve seen enough abuse victims to recognize the symptoms.”

This earned Greg a sharp intake of breath. “I’m NOT an abuse victim.”

“Well right now you sure ACT like one.”

“Gregory, I don’t think it’s your place to throw accusations like that at me.” The muscles in Mycroft’s jaw were working as he held back his anger.

“To the contrary, I think it’s EXACTLY my place to do so. No one else in your immediate vicinity has the balls to do it except maybe for Sherlock.” Seeing the flinch that name caused, Greg’s eyes widened at the implication. “Sherlock did this? Sherlock actually, physically attacked you?!”

“Gregory, please. This is between my brother and I.”

“Fuck that.”

“Gregory...”

“Don’t Gregory me, My. Sherlock, that twat, HURT you. I know he can be ungrateful towards people who do their best to save his sorry ass time and again, but hurting you?”

Lestrade apparently prepared to leave. “I’m going to Baker Street now and give that git a piece of my mind.”

“Stop.” Mycroft’s voice suddenly held all the authority of his workplace persona, The force behind that one syllable held Greg back. He turned to face his lover who was now sitting on the bed looking at him. “That’s exactly the reason I didn’t want to talk about this, so you wouldn’t do anything rash.”

Lestrade took a few deep breaths to help regain his composure. When he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t just shout at his lover, he said “Then tell me why in god’s name I shouldn’t go over there and kick his ass into next week.”

“You mean besides the fact that it wouldn’t change a thing?”

“Even if Sherlock stayed unimpressed, I’m sure John would like to know. Even if he can’t always make your brother see reason his disapproval might have some impact.”

“Dr. Watson knows, he was there. He decided not to intervene for various reasons and he was probably right about it.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t John intervene?” Lestrade’s voice now had become dangerously low.

“Because at that moment Sherlock wasn’t ready to listen to reason. And of course because I hadn’t exactly made myself popular at that point.”

“Dammit Mycroft, trying to get information out of you is harder than pulling teeth.”

The elder Holmes’ voice was cold as ice as he answered: “Then maybe you shouldn’t bother.”

His instinctive reaction was to say that maybe he shouldn’t. He barely bit back his anger. Only his experience with domestic disputes on the one hand and the Holmes boys on the other enabled him to keep his frustration in check.

“Stop trying to push me away, Mycroft - I’m not the enemy.”

Unable to find the right words, the British Government put on some pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown and stormed out of the bedroom. Lestrade sank back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling muttering a very heartfelt “Fuck!”.

He lay there for half an hour giving himself and hopefully Mycroft some time to calm down. He went over their conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he could or maybe should have done differently. It was a good thing he was so old and mature nowadays; ten years ago he would have phoned Sherlock and shouted at him through his mobile. Twenty years ago he would have gone over and pushed that brat’s face into a wall to make him listen. Today he even resisted the temptation to simply text John and ask him what the fuck had happened.

After enough time had passed, he got up and made his way back into the living room. He found his lover back again in his favourite arm chair, holding on to a glass of cognac. A quick glance at the bottle on the table reassured him that Holmes hadn’t tried to drown his sorrows though.

“Mycroft Holmes, I swear you are one of the most infuriating individuals I have ever met - and I do work with Sally Donovan.”

“If that is meant as an attempt to start our reconciliation, I have to say it leaves something to be desired.” 

Greg sat down in ‘his’ chair once again. “I just thought I’d make my position clear for a start.” He gave a small shrug.

“Is that an example of your famous dry wit or are you still angry with me?”

“A little bit of both, I think.”

Mycroft nodded. It wasn’t any worse than he deserved.

“My - talk to me. I promise not to rush to conclusions or judgements before you’re finished, but tell me what happened.”

As an answer his lover took his mobile from the side table and held it out to Greg, showing an open text by John Watson.

‘Sherlock’s high.  
I’m bringing him home right now.  
JW’

Lestrade closed his eyes for a second after reading. “Shit, My. I’m sorry”

“I went to Baker Street immediately of course. I enlisted Mr. Anderson and one of his cronies to help search the flat. Those people and their loyalty towards my brother has been useful a couple of times. When Sherlock and the good doctor arrived things went downhill fast. My brother insisted on having used ‘only for a case’ - needless to say I wasn’t amused. Then Sherlock told me which case had made it necessary for him to shoot up and I…” he took a deep breath, “I lost it. Sherlock is about to go against someone I absolutely can’t have him fight.” Mycroft took a look at the man he loved and made a decision. “Magnusson owns half the media in this country. He is not exactly a likable person but all in all getting rid of him would cause more problems than it would solve. He is far too clever to leave any evidence when he breaks the law but I highly doubt that Sherlock cares too much about that. I told him very clearly that he should stay out of this, that he should stay away from Magnusson.  
Well Sherlock doesn’t react well to orders at the best of times, especially mine, and on drugs my brother sometimes displays somewhat violent tendencies.”

He looked at Gregory, unsure whether the other man would be content or not. But apparently the inspector wasn’t and waited for him to elaborate.

“We both know that I’m not exactly a person for physical confrontation and Sherlock is not only younger but also fitter than myself. He didn’t have any difficulties to shove my face into a wall I’m afraid. It was quite the humiliating experience.”

“And John?”

“Made sure I got out of Baker Street with nothing hurt but my pride. I don’t think I made myself popular with him when I insisted on Sherlock leaving Magnusson alone.”

“Well John hasn’t made himself popular with me by letting Sherlock attack you like that.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I think his loyalty to my brother outweighs almost anything he might do otherwise. Besides he called me when he caught Sherlock on drugs. For that alone I will be eternally grateful, no matter what John’s opinion of me might be.”

Greg sighed. He got up and took the two steps towards Mycroft, putting his arms around him. “What do we do now?”

“Doing what we can to ensure Sherlock stays clean. John won’t be able to handle it alone, not with a pregnant wife at home.”

“And otherwise ignoring what he did? I’m not even allowed to tell that git off for bruising you?”

“Please don’t Gregory. Making him stay clean is the way to ensure this won’t happen again. I’d rather forget this as soon as possible than having it dragged out. Besides if you start doing things like this, your relation to my brother will change irrevocably. You won’t be ‘Inspector Lestrade who brings him cases’ or ‘Inspector Lestrade who gets him out of trouble’ you will be ‘his annoying brother’s boyfriend’.”

Lestrade kissed the top of Mycroft’s head. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Can we just go to bed? I only want this day to end.”

“Sounds good to me.”


	2. Don't Drag Me Into Your Games, Holmes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is an arrogant ass. So is Mycroft. Lestrade somehow deals with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has no basis in the actual episode but with Mycroft promising Sherlock he would have to go against him if he was fighting Magnusson, there sure had to be a couple of times in between when those two clashed. This is but one such occurence.

The next couple of months weren’t easy. Mycroft really didn’t want Sherlock to go against Magnusson and put quite some effort into thwarting his brother whenever he tried something related to the media mogul. Of course with Sherlock being Sherlock that only meant that the younger Holmes tried even harder. Lestrade considered to tell Mycroft to back off because he was only encouraging his brother but decided against it. The elder Holmes was aware of that fact for sure but when it came to his little brother he displayed a stubbornness far beyond reason. Besides thing had gone too far already for a simple attempt at reverse psychology to work. 

Magnusson was one of the “Big Ones” though and Sherlock found time in between to help out the police with some of their more baffling cases. Greg called him in a bit more often than necessary in the hopes of distracting Sherlock at least for a while to relieve some of the tension between the two brothers. He might be closer to Mycroft but he saw Sherlock often enough to recognize that the continued conflict was also taking its toll on the detective.

Currently Sherlock was helping him with a particularly gruesome triple-murder, following clues and connections that only made sense to a Holmesian mind.

“Lestrade I need to take a look at all missing person reports from ‘95 to ‘98.” The door hadn’t even closed behind the lanky detective as he made his demand.

The DI had long ago given up on following the leaps of logic that happened during “the chase”. As long as Sherlock was able to explain his reasoning in the end when he had solved the case he wasn’t going to complain about seemingly random requests for information.

“Alright, that might take a while though - sit down while I’ll organize the files.”

“Hurry up, Gustav, there’s a murderer on the loose.”

Lestrade sighed but refrained from correcting the brilliant detective. He didn’t have the energy for futile fights right now.

When he came back a while later with a laptop for Sherlock to use, it had taken a bit to find a spare one but considering the sheer volume of data, it would take the detective more than a few minutes to look through everything so he needed his own for the time being. Greg logged into the necessary programs before passing the computer over, before going to his own desk to continue on his paperwork. The younger Holmes started typing fervently, filling in required fields to start his database search. It was an enormous amount of data so the machine took some time to compile a list for him. When he was about to open the second file, a hand reached over and shut the laptop down.

“I think that’s quite enough, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft.” The detective’s face was contorted with contempt.

“What the hell is going on?!” Lestrade wasn’t amused by anyone waltzing into his office acting as if they owned the place, even if in this case the person was his boyfriend.  
“I just stopped my little brother from taking advantage of you, Gregory - you’re welcome.”

“He helps me with a triple murder. I ASKED for his help in the investigation, Mycroft.”

“Ah yes - the Farthington case. He solved that around noon yesterday. Didn’t you, brother-mine?”

Lestrade’s eyes shot over to the younger Holmes who looked very sullen and shot his brother dirty looks, ignoring the DI completely. “You did what? Sherlock, there’s a murderer on the loose and you’re sitting here playing games?”

“There are a lot of murderers out there, Lestrade. I highly doubt the brother will go around killing any more people just because he has a day or two more of freedom, nothing to gain from it.”

The DI turned towards the older brother. “And how did YOU know when he solved the case?”

“Well it took me about ten minutes to come up with the three most likely - or should I say only possible - explanations. Knowing that Sherlock can be a bit slow and would want to verify or falsify each of those through legwork I simply extrapolated.”

Lestrade took a deep calming breath before he spoke again. He looked at Mycroft: “You - out. We’ll talk about this later.” He turned towards Sherlock not even bothering to check if the British Government did as he was told. “You - you are going to give me everything on the Farthington case that you’ve got and pray that it’s enough to satisfy me, or this will be the last time I’ve ever worked with you. Do you understand that, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s head shot around. His gaze had followed Mycroft out of the office baffled by the fact that anyone but Mummy actually held any kind of power over his brother. Faced with Lestrade’s obvious anger his delight about that fact quickly dissipated. He thought about arguing his position, getting Lestrade to understand, but remembered similar expressions on John’s face. Judging from those cases it would do him no good trying to argue reason. “A bit not good?”

“You might say that - now the Farthington case…”

 

That evening Greg was still pretty angry when he came home. Yes, Sherlock had given him everything he needed and they had gotten the collar, but that didn’t really excuse the way both Holmes brother treated the world as their sandbox. He wondered if Mycroft would be at home waiting or if he’d be hiding in his office or club with some important work to avoid the conflict for a little time.

When he entered the flat and the smell of baking potatoes and rosemary hit his nostrils that question was answered immediately. Mycroft liked being in control of what he ate but he really didn’t enjoy cooking. If their schedule allowed it, it was more often than not Greg who did the actual cooking, even if Mycroft often helped by washing salad, peeling the potatoes or doing other small things.

“You don’t believe for a moment this will get you out of trouble, do you?” Lestrade couldn’t quite keep the affection and amusement out of his voice though.

Mycroft turned with a small smile. “The thought was to lighten your certainly bad mood after a day of dealing with my brother and paperwork. I’m not sure why I would be in trouble exactly.”

The inspector took a deep breath as he sat down. Sometimes it was very hard to remember that his lover was actually quite brilliant. “Ten minutes?” He was sure that the genius would be able to figure it out.

“Oh - yes. Ten minutes. That’s about right.”

“My team and I worked on that case for six days. And that’s WITH Sherlock’s help. Isn’t waste of tax funds something you abhor?”

Mycroft took a seat next to him at the kitchen table. “I figured it out. In my head. As far as I know the court requires a bit more than my personal guarantee that a crime happened a certain way. They ask for evidence, proof - and sadly ‘scout’s honour’ doesn’t count. That’s what Sherlock is good at - running around gathering those tedious things, doing the legwork.”

Greg sighed. “But of course you can’t tell him that. God forbid Mycroft Holmes ever said something like ‘Very good, brother-mine’. Instead you call him dumb.”

“That might not have been my proudest moment,” the elder Holmes admitted. “But Sherlock trying to abuse your trust to get something against Magnusson behind my back…”

“Wait, you think this had to do with Magnusson?”

“Naturally, otherwise there would have been no reason for secrecy.” Mycroft got up to turn off the oven and get the meal out.

“My, if Magnusson has something to do with disappearing people then maybe Sherlock is on to something.”

The roasting tray was sat down rather violently. “My brother is a childish fool, Gregory. And he’s playing with fire.”

“So Magnusson…”

“Is a businessman, no archetypical evil overlord. He is dangerous, yes, but he’s not Sherlock’s kind of opponent. He’s exactly the kind of person I deal with on a regular basis. Handled carefully they can be an asset. Blundering about wielding your weapons openly like Sherlock does is an invitation for disaster.”

“Sherlock has gone against many dangerous people. Why are you so worried this time?”

Mycroft stopped cutting the roast. It was unnecessary to explain that he always worried about his little brother. Gregory, more than anyone, understood. “I only got Sherlock back a few months ago. This is the first time in a long while that I have the feeling I can look after him. And I have to - without John in Baker Street he’s in danger of losing himself. Magnusson knows that. He isn’t interested in Sherlock, not really. He only sees him as a means to an end.”

“Magnusson wants to get to you?”

“Naturally, if he had a pressure point against me he would gain power and influence to an extent that’s frankly something I don’t feel comfortable discussing.” Mycroft passed Greg a plate with a generous helping and sat down with his own plate. “When Sherlock came back our relationship was more at ease than it had been in a long time. Now he has used again - because of Magnusson - runs into foolish dangers - because of Magnusson - and him and me are very much at odds - because of Magnusson.”

“That last part is not entirely Magnusson’s fault though is it?” Greg hated pushing but some things needed to be said.

Mycroft stared at the food before him. “No, not solely. I keep pushing Sherlock away, in the hope to fool Magnusson into thinking he’s not all that important to me.”

“Well I should be glad I suppose that our relationship hasn’t gained that much attention yet.”

Mycroft had the decency to look slightly guilty. “I’m sorry, Gregory,” After a short pause he added “I’m not the most expressive man when it comes to affection, especially in public. People like Magnusson and my position are two of the reasons behind that. But I also never tried to keep us a secret.”

“Which probably keeps me safe from that man.”

Mycroft nodded. “That and the fact that you are a person of integrity. I highly doubt Magnusson would find anything he could use as a lever against you and therefore me.” He took Gregory’s hand and put a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

Lestrade couldn’t help but smile at the romantic gesture.

“OK, you are officially not in trouble. - Now how about you open up a bottle of red and we eat this before it’s getting cold?”


	3. Sherlock Got Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets shot. Mycroft gets angry.

Lestrade hated night shifts. Not only did he miss seeing actual daylight, he also always had trouble adjusting his sleeping rhythm. And he missed Mycroft. When he was on night duty he felt lucky to get a glimpse of his lover leaving their flat when he came home and it wasn’t uncommon for Mycroft to return so late that he would have left for his shift already. During those weeks they mainly talked through little notes left on the kitchen table (for information) or bedside stand (for sentiment) and if they could manage the occasional call from work. Today Greg found a note on the kitchen table. It read:

“Sherlock got shot. St. Mary’s”

Greg called Mycroft immediately but apparently even the British Government’s phone got blocked in the hospital.

A moment ago Greg was dead tired and on his way to bed. Now the adrenaline shooting through his body had him at high alert. He slipped into his jacket again, grabbed his keys and was out of the door in record time. Traffic was hell this early in the morning. Greg cursed at all the commuters, the stupid masses in their day-to-day life who clogged up the streets while he needed to reach St. Mary’s.

When he finally reached the hospital he almost ran into Mycroft who was apparently just leaving. The older Holmes was checking his mobile and would have passed him without noticing.

“My,” Greg called out. When he didn’t get any reaction he tried again. “Mycroft.”

His lover looked up from his phone just as Lestrade reached him.

“Gregory.” A small smile showed on his face and Greg immediately relaxed. “He’s going to be alright. The operation was successful and he even woke up for a few moments.” A slight expression of distaste showed in his face as he continued. “He’s high on morphine right now, so no chance of getting anything resembling sense out of Sherlock at the moment.”

Lestrade sighed. He took Mycroft’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He wanted to hug the other man but also knew he wouldn’t approve. “We’re dealing with that later. The important part is that he’s alive.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft glanced at his mobile’s screen and sighed. “I should be going. I’m late for a meeting as it is.”

“Are you serious? - No, wait, of course you are.” The DI shook his head. “First breakfast, I need a cuppa to get over that fright and you need some substance to get you through the day.”

“While I do appreciate the sentiment, Gregory, I do have places I need to be.”

“You are already late. Half an hour - that’s all I’m asking.”

Mycroft sighed in defeat. “Very well then, lead the way.”

They quickly found a small café where they could enjoy a quick breakfast in peace and quiet while Mycroft gave Greg an update on the Sherlock situation.

“So Magnusson again, that name is beginning to piss me off,” Lestrade stated when Mycroft was finished.

“Magnusson was knocked out by the attacker. This was not his fault apparently.”

“Appearances can be misleading.”

Mycroft looked surprised by the slight growl in the inspector’s voice. He had always known that Gregory was protective of his younger brother but the level of suppressed anger surprised him nonetheless. “If that is the case I WILL find out. Whoever did this to Sherlock will have to answer to me,” he promised grimly.

“Sounds good.” There was a slight pause. “Please just don’t tell me whatever you do to that bastard. I would hate to have to put cuffs on my boyfriend.”

A small smile tucked at Mycroft’s lip at this proof of trust in him. “I promise to keep you blissfully unaware. I won’t do anything too illegal but I won’t compromise you with the knowledge of details.” He looked at his watch and sighed as he got up. “I really need to go, Gregory. I hope to see you tonight.” He leaned down for a quick kiss and left.

 

Both of them visited Sherlock in the hospital over the next couple of days as their schedules allowed it. The younger Holmes was recuperating nicely and the one day they managed to visit together, he was already complaining about having to deal with all those happy couples as if Mary and John weren’t enough with their terrible fixation on one another. Greg didn’t know what amused him more, Sherlock’s needling or Mycroft’s irritated reaction. He usually didn’t like it when something so obviously bothered his lover, but it was a sure sign of Sherlock getting better and it was lacking any real aggression, so he was quite OK with it.

At the evening of that same day Greg and Mycroft were just settling down with a couple of books on the couch for a nice relaxing evening when the government official’s phone rang. Sherlock had fled St. Mary’s and had disappeared. Mycroft was cursing vehemently after hanging up as he dialed his PA’s number. Anthea was ordered to FIND Sherlock using every option at her disposal and call him immediately once he was found. Greg was glad he wasn’t one of the hospital staff who supposedly were looking after Sherlock. He was sure some people would lose their job over this. Despite all the power at his disposal the sheer volume of surveillance data meant that finding Sherlock would take time. Greg did his best to keep Mycroft calm despite his own worry in the meantime.

“I’m sure he wasn’t taken. You know Sherlock, he probably walked out there because he was bored.”  
“Oh I’m sure he left under his own free will. And I’m going to kill him once I get my fingers on him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he is actively TRYING to kill himself. Our parents were scheduled to visit him at the hospital tomorrow dammit.”

“Do you want to call them?”

“Don’t be absurd. It would only worry them and they couldn’t do anything about it. Also knowing Sherlock the moment I tell them he’ll reappear right as rain.”

Lestrade frowned. “I am not absurd, Mycroft. I’m trying to figure out what you need to do and if I can help in any way besides calling on my colleagues to give me a heads-up if one of them runs into your brother.” He said sternly.

Mycroft paused. “Apologies. I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He pulled the other man into an embrace. “I’m sure he’ll be alright, My.”

When the call finally came, it turned out Sherlock wasn’t OK - far from it. He had torn his stitches and was now in the hospital again. The doctors saved his life once again but it was a close call.

Mycroft and Greg were both at the hospital when Sherlock woke up. Once the younger Holmes opened his eyes, Lestrade did his best to become a part of the wallpaper. This was between the two brothers and he wouldn’t intervene if he could avoid it.

“So I see you are awake.” Mycroft’s voice was deceptively soft.

“‘lo ‘croft.” Sherlock appeared to be still half-asleep.

“Don’t act as if you’re confused. You’ve been awake for three minutes already and tried to avoid this conversation by refusing to open your eyes.”

Sherlock’s expression changed into something a lot more alert even if he still looked tired.

“Now would you like me to organize you a gun? Or would you prefer a scalpel for your next attempt at suicide? I hear they are quite easy to get inside a hospital.”

“I didn’t attempt suicide.” Sherlock stated through gritted teeth.

“Are you quite sure about that brother-mine? It looked a lot like it from my perspective.”

Sherlock let himself sink back into his pillow. “Just tell me when you’ve finished the scolding, will you. It gets boring listening to all of it.”

And that was the last straw. Mycroft’s head turned a shade of red that Gregory had never seen before.

“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES I’m done with your stupid attempts at nonchalant idiotic acts of heroism. REAL people don’t run around with fresh gunshot wounds. Real people, those who would very much like to survive for another day, stay in the hospital after an operation so they can heal. I know you are a stubborn little idiot and you think yourself above any and all rules but I’m done playing your games. I’ve placed one of my people in front of this door - and don’t look like that, he will be inside this room if I’m not here. You will NOT leave this hospital before at least two doctors agree that it is safe for you to do so, one of them being Doctor Watson. I don’t care if you get bored. I don’t care if you make all the hospital staff cry. You will not get out of here early. Mummy and Father will come by later and you will treat them nicely. You won’t tell them about your little escapade yesterday, They worry enough at it is. Is. That. Understood?”

Sherlock for a tiny moment looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “You made yourself quite clear.”

“Good.” Mycroft turned around and strode out of the room.

Greg almost collided with Mycroft’s man who - true to the older Holmes’ word - entered immediately when he saw his boss leave. Lestrade followed his lover quickly and managed to catch him at the elevators.

“For a moment I was afraid you would threaten to spank him if he misbehaved.”

Mycroft sighed. “Trust me that IS a tempting thought. But it would just mess with his stitches.”

Greg gave a quiet chuckle. He took Mycroft’s hand in his. “He’s going to be OK, My.”

The British Government gave a quick acknowledging nod. “At least this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't include what Mycroft did to Mary in here, because this is Mystrade-centric (with a bit of brotherly love because you can't have Mycroft without his worry for Sherlock). But of course he found out and took some appropriate steps.


	4. Happy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sherlock shot a man in cold blood. In front of dozens of witnesses. Happy Christmas.”

Mycroft hated Christmas and all that came with it, so Greg had no problem in taking some shifts over the holidays so other colleagues could enjoy quality time with their loved ones. It was their first Christmas together but Mycroft had very, very eloquently explained that he would spend the time buried in his work as much as possible and taking a quiet drink before going to bed early. Greg had sighed and nodded. Being with one of the Holmes boys wasn’t easy and it would never be. If one of his lover’s quirks was to hate Christmas then so be it.

Of course all plans were off when Sherlock was shot. When Mummy called and insisted that her boys spent the holidays with her, there really wasn’t anything Mycroft could do to escape. Greg would have loved to accompany him, seeing John and Mary again, meeting the fabled Mummy and Father, and of course making things a little more bearable for Mycroft. But alas the schedules had been out for weeks and there was no way short of getting himself shot to get out of the Christmas shift.

“It’s perfectly alright, Gregory. There is nothing much you will miss - inconsequential chatter, much too much food, and of course the bickering. I will take my laptop and hopefully get some work done once Sherlock has holed up somewhere pouting and Mummy will try to get us to make up with icy glares.”

Greg smiled at the idea. “I might have liked to see that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Mycroft assured him. “On Christmas I tend to become unbearable I’m afraid. And if you really want to see me and Sherlock bickering we can always visit my brother at Baker Street.”

Lestrate tried not to let his disappointment show but it was almost impossible to hide something from a Holmes when they had their focus on you.

“Oh, of course,” Mycroft gave a little sigh. Being with a “real” person was quite demanding, but he did love Greg and had long since decided that all the compromises were a price he was more than willing to pay. His attitude changed slightly and he forced a small smile on his face. “We can go and visit Mummy and Father after the holidays if you want to, you have the 30th off, don’t you?” Seeing how his partner’s face lit up, Mycroft’s smile turned far more genuine. “Really Gregory, all you had to do was ask, it’s not as if I’m hiding you from the family.”

When Christmas Eve came, Greg and Mycroft both left their home early. Greg managed to steal a kiss from Mycroft, just as the latter opened the door.

“I’ll probably be home late and in a bad mood when I arrive. No need to wait up for me, Gregory.”

“Acknowledged Mr. Holmes,” which was Greg’s polite way of saying ‘I heard you and I plan to ignore what you said completely.’

The knowledge that no matter how terrible the family gathering would turn out to be, a patient, loving and gorgeous man would await him tonight, made Mycroft’s step a lot lighter as he stepped towards the waiting car.

 

When Mycroft finally did arrive home it was in the not-so-early-anymore morning hours. There was still a lot of which he had to take care but even the Iceman needed some sleep. When he closed the door behind him he was too exhausted to see to it that he did it quietly and the sound startled Gregory from his sleep. The inspector had obviously waited quite some time for Mycroft to return home before he had fallen asleep on the couch. Lestrade's face looked about as crumbled as the blanket he had wrapped around him and next to the couch lay a tortured paperback novel that had obviously fallen from relaxing fingers to the ground. 

When he was woken from his sleep, Greg felt pretty unforgiving towards his partner. He was far too old to simply sleep on the couch and now his back and neck felt stiff, he had a terrible taste in his mouth from falling asleep without brushing his teeth, and Mycroft hadn’t even taken the time to call him. He was also pretty sure that Mycroft would blame everything on Sherlock and to be fair probably Sherlock would be the one to blame at least partly for Mycroft not coming home earlier, but was one bloody call really too much to ask? Lestrade got up to face the arse and give him a piece of his mind. When he saw Mycroft all anger left him though. He had never seen the other man like this, couldn’t even have imagined it. He did not only look exhausted but positively drained. When Mycroft’s phone rang and he muted it without even looking Greg felt a stab of panic running through him. Mycroft always answered his mobile. Stiff neck and bad taste were immediately shoved to the back of his mind as he took the few steps necessary to get to Mycroft’s side.

“What happened?”

Mycroft’s face distorted into an expression of distaste as his right hand came up and loosened his tie. “Sherlock shot a man in cold blood. In front of dozens of witnesses. Happy Christmas.”

Greg’s mind went racing, dozens of questions that wanted to be asked, the inspector fighting with the boyfriend for dominance. But in the end there was only one thing he could really say first.

“Shit.” He pulled Mycroft into an embrace. It was a sign of how distraught he was that the elder Holmes actually let that happen, even going so far as to actively hugging Lestrade back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have much time. I need to get at least some sleep before I’ll meet with the appropriate people, and maybe, just maybe I can get him out of this.” He closed his eyes tiredly. ‘Maybe’ wasn’t a word he used often but to actually utter the calculated chances out loud would only frighten Gregory and depress himself.

“Of course.” It was pretty clear by the state of things that Mycroft had been at it all night. They quickly made it to their bedroom while Mycroft undressed. Greg did his best to help and miraculously managed not to make things worse. The immaculate suit, the shirt and tie landed in an ignored heap on the floor with the socks as they both crawled under the covers.

Laying his head down on Lestrade’s shoulder Mycroft managed to answer at least a few questions.

“It was Magnusson - despicable individual and he did it to protect John and Mary.” ‘And you’ a tiny voice at the back of his head added. “Damn idiot always had to get himself involved.”

Greg didn’t know what to say but it was unnecessary anyway as Mycroft had already drifted off to sleep.

It was only a few hours later when Greg’s alarm went off. He silenced it as quickly as possible but Mycroft was already awake.

“Shit. I’m sorry, My.”

“Don’t be, my own alarm would have woken me in half an hour anyway.” Seeing the disbelief in his lover’s face, he added. “I have several important meetings today. It’s a blessing that it’s Christmas Day so this way I at least don’t have to cancel a lot of previous appointments.” He quickly calculated the time. “May I occupy the shower first?”

“Sure, I’ll go and start the coffee.”

Mycroft let out a small sigh. “You are too good to me, Gregory.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.” Lestrade placed a gentle kiss on Mycroft’s lips. “Now off you go and leave me some hot water.”

The older Holmes spend an unusually long time under the spray of warm water, using the time he gained by waking half an hour early to indulge himself. In the shower, where no one, not even Gregory, could see him, Mycroft put his forehead against the cool and smooth tiles, while the warmth loosened at least some of the knots in his shoulders. If anyone had seen him with his eyes closed standing there like this, they would have recognized vulnerability, weakness even. If anyone had seen him like this, Mycroft would have made sure very quickly and very effectively that this person wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about it.

When he entered the kitchen some time later he was already dressed immaculately, the suit his armour against the world. He took a cup of coffee from the kitchen counter and after a short moment of consideration took the plate with scrambled eggs and toast, Gregory emphatically shoved under his nose. It was a medium sized portion, just about as much as his stomach would be able to handle after this little sleep.

After he was convinced that Mycroft would actually eat the breakfast prepared for him, Lestrade left to quickly hop under the shower before he had to leave for work. When he came out of the shower, he could hear his lover on the phone.

“... I can’t say right now, I’ll need to make some calls, meet with people. There are quite a few people who will be secretly glad that this happened and I think we can use that to our advantage. … No, Mummy this won’t simply ‘go away’, there were too many witnesses. … I saw it happen there is no mistake about what occurred. … No, NO Mother, this has nothing to do with our feud…” After listening for a few moments, Mycroft terminated the call without another word. Lestrade could see that he was inwardly fuming. This might have been the first time he had ever heard the usually very composed Holmes raise his voice when on the phone with his mother.

Greg stopped buttoning up his shirt. “My, if there’s anything…”

“No, no there really isn’t…” Mycroft shook his head slightly. “But thank you for offering. Sherlock goes off to kill one of his dragons and gets himself into trouble. I’m doing my best to clean up after him, pulling strings, calling in favours I worked very hard to accumulate over the years and when even my best efforts aren’t enough - and this time it might finally have come to that - it is somehow my fault. It’s the elder sibling’s lot I’m afraid.”

“You know I’m really, really fond of Sherlock, but his messes aren’t anyone’s fault but his own. And if you can’t get him out of this, then no one can. I’m sure your mother knows that.”

“I’m afraid Mummy buys into Sherlock’s version of evil-overlord-Mycroft a bit too much. She’s half-convinced that if I don’t help him, it can’t be that I’m not able to do so but that I’m not willing.” Mycroft checked his cuffs a last time before he turned towards the door to leave.

“That’s the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve heard all my life. We both know you’d rather cut off various parts of yourself before you let any serious harm befall Sherlock.”

“Sadly though there isn’t always a choice in these matters.” Mycroft turned around a last time before leaving. “I’m not sure when I’ll be home. Call John. He’ll be able to tell you what happened in detail. Otherwise keep this to yourself. The quieter this stays the better my chances are of achieving something.”


	5. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost no Mycroft in this chapter - sorry. Greg needs learn what has happened.

Unlike many other jobs that of a police officer didn’t get easier over Christmas. In fact, during the holidays more crazies came out than during any other day of the year. DI Lestrade found himself pretty occupied during his workday and only managed to call on John after his shift was over. Domestic disputes which turned ugly weren’t exactly a challenge to his detective skills but they were thoroughly depressing and Greg found himself wondering why he actually liked Christmas. The only lifesign of Mycroft he got all day was one quick text.

‘Remind me why I don’t simply turn evil and kill every bureaucratic minded politician who only cares about their own advantage?  
MH’

Obviously Mycroft was in a situation that didn’t allow him to call but needed some way to vent his frustration.

‘A - prisons don’t allow for booty calls and you’d miss me.  
B - you being evil would prove Sherlock right and you’d never give him that satisfaction.  
GL’

Although it felt weird under the circumstances to send such banter, Lestrade hoped it would help Mycroft if he at least acted as if their world wasn’t crumbling down around them.

When he headed out of the Yard Lestrade decided to actually drop by Baker Street. John had moved in there temporarily because some dispute between him and Mary. No one had told him what it was about exactly and that was more or less fine with him. Marital problems were a private affair after all. The weird thing about it was that Sherlock (and Mycroft) who of course knew what was really going on didn’t blab about it but actually respected John and Mary’s wish for privacy.

Mrs Hudson let him in, not without wishing him a Happy Christmas of course and babbling about “what a terrible thing” this was but that at least “some good” had come out of it and how she “simply couldn’t believe” that this has happened.

Greg knew that under her “sweet old lady” guise Mrs. Hudson was far tougher than most people would believe possible. She was perfectly aware what Sherlock was capable of doing. She had seen what happened to the CIA agent - sorry - burglar that had made the mistake of laying a finger on her after all. Her lack of belief in the reality of the situation had more to do with the fact that Sherlock got caught and that there were real consequences this time.

When Greg reached the upper flat he was surprised to not only find John but Mary as well. Apparently Sherlock’s predicament weighed heavier than whatever differences they had. So that explained Mrs. Hudson’s ‘something good’ comment at least. Neither of the Watsons looked as if they had slept well and part of Greg felt guilty for intruding on them. But this affected his life as well and it seemed as if John was his only source of information.

“How much has Mycroft told you about Magnusson?” John asked quietly. Mary was sitting next to him, holding his hand.

“Not much,” Lestrade confessed. “I mean I know he owns half the media in the land. Mycroft said something about Sherlock foolishly deciding to start a crusade against the man. I could tell that he wasn’t happy but that’s hardly surprising considering it got Sherlock using again - however shortly or controlled it might have been.” He remembered that day clearly when he had found bruises on Mycroft’s forearm and had his lover flinch when he took a look at it. But he really didn’t want to go into the details of that with John and Mary. Mycroft was a very private person and Gregory wouldn’t betray his trust.

 

“Huh, yes well, that’s only a small part of it. Magnusson apparently was a very clever man - maybe not on par with Sherlock and Mycroft but certainly in their league. And he was a grandmaster of blackmail. That’s how we first encountered him - a high-ranking politician came to Sherlock because he tried to blackmail them and they were having none of it.  
Blackmail was only his weapon of choice though. He loved to see people suffer, make them feel helpless to assure himself of his own power. He was the one behind the Guy Fawkes near-debacle.”

Lestrade took in a sharp breath, slowly but surely Sherlock going against that man made more sense. Anyone who decided to go against the detective’s very small and well-defined circle of ‘people he cared about’ was playing with his life and health. “You had proof for that?”

“Nothing that would hold up in court. Even if we had something more substantial I doubt we’d have found a judge to condemn him. He had too many people in his pocket - including Mycroft.”

“Mycroft? Don’t be daft John. Mycroft wouldn’t let anyone press him into anything.” The whole thought was beyond ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, Greg. It’s how Sherlock saw it and after what I witnessed later I’m not so sure he was completely mistaken. Talk with him. He’ll probably tell you something about Magnusson’s usefulness versus danger to the nation quotient, but I honestly don’t care. If Mycroft had taken Sherlock’s side more clearly, if… Those two are unstoppable if they work together but on this they were mostly on opposing sides.”

Mary interrupted. “That’s honestly as much Sherlock’s fault as his, John. I don’t think there is really any blame to put on Mycroft.”

Greg was surprised to see Mary jump to his lover’s defense. Usually both Watsons were firmly on Sherlock’s side in any given conflict.

John nodded and sighed. “You’re probably right. And right now he tries his best to get Sherlock out of this mess, which is more than could be expected under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“Magnusson came after Mary and me, tried to threaten us.”

“This has anything to do with you two going through a rough patch?” Lestrade had the distinct feeling that there was more to this than John was telling him.

There was a curt nod. “Sorry but that’s really none…”

“Of my business - fair enough. What happened then?” Greg wasn’t happy to be kept out of the loop but if working with Sherlock had taught him anything then how valuable privacy was.

“Sherlock… came up with a plan. I wasn’t privy to any of it until Christmas Eve when suddenly everyone at the Holmes’s house but Sherlock and me lost consciousness. He had drugged everyone with the help of his ‘protege’.”

“He did what?! His protege? John…”

“Some druggie he met and took under his wing. It’s not really important, it’s…”

“He DRUGGED Mycroft and his parents and MARY? Christ, John, that’s…”

“A very Sherlock thing to do actually. I wasn’t really happy, believe me. He had the decency to check on them before he stole Mycroft’s laptop and we left.”

Lestrade looked as if he wanted to say something but bit his lip. He had nothing to add right now so he waited for John to continue.

“He used the laptop to gain access to Magnusson’s estate, offering it up for trade. He was well aware that Mycroft would wake up rather quickly and would find the laptop through the GPS chip. He hoped that once Magnusson’s home would be thoroughly searched, they would find enough compromising material to put the man away. Only there wasn’t any compromising material besides the laptop which indicted Sherlock rather than Magnusson. The man obviously had destroyed any damning evidence he ever collected once he had memorised it. To blackmail someone it’s enough to know what they have done. As long as they’re doing what you want you never have to produce proof, after all. And with him owning all those newspapers he would have an easy enough time destroying anyone’s life whether his accusations had any base in reality or not. When the helicopters arrived Sherlock decided he only had this one shot to stop Magnusson from destroying Mary’s life, mine, Mycroft’s, basically the life of everyone he cared about. No doubt Magnusson would have done it and just because it amused him. Sherlock had one shot and he took it.”

Greg leaned back in his chair. “And Mycroft and all of his men saw it happen.”

John nodded. “Mycroft stopped them from shooting him then and there but with the number of people present I highly doubt this can be swept under the rug.”

“Let me guess, there’s no way this is going over as self-defense in any way?”

“No.” Watson shook his head in fatalistic resignation. Mary’s arm around his shoulder pulled him close.

“There’s nothing we can do really. I wish there was,” she added.

Lestrade got up and started pacing “Look at me. I’m a copper for Christ’s sake. You tell me Sherlock murdered someone in cold blood and my first reaction is to think ‘what can I do to get him out of this?’ What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Mary assured him.

“Sherlock’s your friend too. And you KNOW he wouldn’t have done it without having a perfectly good reason. It might not be comprehensible to me or you or the average judge but we know he had a reason.”

“Yeah, he always has. But the problem is this isn’t all about reason is it? Right and wrong weren’t always his strong suit.” Lestrade shook his head. “Sally would kick my ass for saying this, but you are right, Sherlock is a friend.” He looked at John and Mary. “I already told Mycroft, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

They all knew there wasn’t much he would be able to do, but still John nodded as Mary agreed “We will let you know.”


	6. Not Farewell After All

The next week was basically hell. Mycroft put in incredibly long hours, trying to save his brother’s ass while at the same time doing at least the absolute minimum to keep everything else running relatively smoothly. Greg only saw him when he climbed into bed in the middle of the night, doing his best not to wake the detective inspector and when he was lucky for a few moments in the morning before he had to leave again. After that first night Mycroft dealt pretty well with all the stress - that is, well enough to keep up the appearance of the unaffected, efficient government official. No one he talked to had any reason to suspect that he tried to help Sherlock for anything but the nation’s best interest. He even ate enough to keep up his strength. Gregory had texted with ‘Anthea’ to make sure that he did but for once his worries were unnecessary.

When Mycroft finally told him the solution he had worked out, Greg almost couldn’t believe it.

“Six months? You’re telling me that Sherlock’s getting sent on a suicide mission?” Lestrade tried his best to keep any form of accusation out of his voice. He was sure that Mycroft had done whatever was possible and yet he couldn’t help but being shocked.

His lover’s hand went up, stroking over the lower half of his face as he took a deep breath. “It’s six months with relative freedom, more than he would have had otherwise. Depending on the facility he would have made it for two to three months, his mind probably gone faster. It’s also six months in which another solution might present itself, an opportunity might arise.”

“Or be fabricated?”

Mycroft’s face turned quickly towards Gregory, his eyes narrowed. “You better not utter those words outside of these four walls. ‘Fabricated’ has a very distinctly unpatriotic undertone.”

Greg nodded, acknowledging the warning of the very real dangers surrounding Mycroft’s position.

“A miracle might happen, six months is a long time after all. I trust Sherlock to keep alive long enough and to do some good for our country in the meantime.” The government official sighed. “Don’t mention the odds to John, please. Sherlock wants to keep that bleak outlook from the people caring about him. Technically I shouldn’t even have told you.”

“Technically you shouldn’t have told yourself - would be a bit difficult though, wouldn’t it?” Greg put his arms around his lover. “I’m glad you told me. You shouldn’t have to bear this alone.”

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile. “Thank you, Gregory.”

 

Lestrade wouldn’t be able to make it to the small private airport from where Sherlock would start into a very dangerous (and probably short) future. So he visited his young friend in prison to say his goodbye. Sherlock was his usual self, arrogant and so far from sentimental that it wasn’t just a change of postal codes but of time zones. He explained that it was a good thing Greg wouldn’t be at the plane’s departure or otherwise John would find out about the exact nature of Sherlock’s future.

“You are a good man, Lestrade, but a hopeless liar. Even if John would believe you, Mary would see through you in no time - Oh stop that sad face this instant. You will find someone else to solve your cases for you, I’m sure. If push comes to shove I’m sure my brother would be able to make some time in his busy schedule to help you out.”

It wasn’t a long visit (even Mycroft’s connections wouldn’t allow for that) and Sherlock kept up the banter, presenting a careless face for all to see. Only when Greg got up to leave, he allowed the older man to embrace him one last time. The inspector would never forget the last words Sherlock would probably ever say to him.

“Look after Mycroft for me will you? Someone has to make sure that he doesn’t explode from self-importance. And tell him to look after you properly, you are at least as important as Northern Ireland.”

The very next day Lestrade left his home for the early shift, giving Mycroft a short but heartfelt hug as he said goodbye. Neither of them were really in the mood for small talk. His shift went over without any real trouble but some of his colleagues took note of his sober mood. It was the burden of working with coppers - a bunch of perceptive arseholes, the lot of them. Mycroft wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours after his shift ended, so when a couple of his work mates asked him to come along to the pub, Greg agreed. He drank a pint, smiled at their jokes and did his best to act normal. After all Mycroft had asked him to keep this whole mess under the rug and nobody would be helped if he started brooding in the pub, bringing everybody down. And then just about the time Sherlock’s plane was scheduled to leave suddenly the telly in the pub didn’t show the highlights of yesterday’s game anymore but an all too familiar face.

DS Coulton next to him frowned. “Wait isn’t that the Moriarty bloke?”

Almost three years after his death the face had mostly dropped from public consciousness but some people did remember. Greg heard the murmurs around him.

“But he’s dead isn’t he?”  
“Well that Holmes bloke survived as well so it only stands to reason…”  
“Maybe the papers were right. I mean a giant public relation stunt sounds far more realistic than…”  
“Hey Lestrade, weren’t you involved in all that crap back then?”  
But the DI was already on his way out of the pub, right after he was sure the broadcast wasn’t about to reveal anything but only ran in a loop. The moment he was out on the relatively quiet side street he phoned Mycroft.

It took him three attempts before he finally got through, getting a busy signal on his first two calls.

“Gregory?”

“Judging by the time it took me to reach you, I’d say you know about the broadcast. How are you My?”

“Taking advantage of the miracle as it presents itself. Suddenly a lot of people agree that Sherlock is needed at the home front more desperately than abroad. His plane is already turning around.”

Lestrade could hear the relief in Mycroft’s voice - or maybe he was just projecting. “What about Moriarty?”

“We’ll deal with him. Jim Moriarty doesn’t stand a chance against two Holmes brothers.”

Greg smiled. Mycroft’s confidence was all the reassurance he needed. “Well I won’t keep you from your duties any longer then. Tell Sherlock I said ‘Hi’ and I’ll see you tonight I guess.”

“Definitely tonight. Goodbye, Gregory.”

 

Mycroft arrived relatively late. It wasn’t really a surprise and Greg had planned accordingly. He was working in the kitchen when his lover came home.

“Hey, My, what do you think about a nice glass of wine with dinner?” Lestrade felt they had something to celebrate.

“Wine sounds good, Gregory, but I’m afraid I’ve already eaten something on my way home,” Mycroft’s voice drifted in from the hall, as he apparently made his way into the living room.

“Don’t worry, then I’ll just heat something up for myself quickly,” Greg called out.

When he joined Mycroft a few moments later, with a dish of warmed up left-overs in his hand, the bottle of wine was open and two glasses were poured, although apparently Mycroft had already started without him. The bottle was emptier than the two glasses accounted for. Lestrade frowned, it wasn’t like the older Holmes to just gulp down wine without giving it the proper chance to breath.

It was completely like Mycroft though to put away something when Greg entered the room that he wasn’t allowed to see for whatever reason. When a small piece of paper fell out of Mycroft’s notebook as he put his away, Lestrade was the one to pick it up. He held it out to his lover but he couldn’t help his copper instincts, a quick glance showed it to be some kind of list and definitely Sherlock’s handwriting. It was torn into pieces though so he couldn’t make out what it was about.

“So what’s this?” He asked good-naturedly but nevertheless curious.

The elder Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a list.” He took the piece from Greg and put it with the others. “Of everything Sherlock took this morning before boarding the plane.”

For a moment Greg was confused, why would Sherlock make a list of what he’d pack? Then his brain made the connection between Mycroft’s expression, his words, and the cut-off words he couldn’t place before. As far as he had seen it had been a rather long list. 

“Oh Shit.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed while draining his glass.

“My…”

“And it’s all my fault.”

“Oh come on now My, don’t be daft. How can this be your fault?”

“He was in solitary confinement for a week - except for that short visit of yours yesterday, because I wasn’t quick enough to get him out sooner. He was on his way to his death, where I sent him. I fought him about Magnusson all of the way, otherwise he MIGHT have trusted me to take care of the man instead of taking matters into his own hand. I let myself be drugged and my laptop be taken because I wasn’t careful enough. I should have done something when he started using again so shortly after John’s wedding, I should have been there for him before, at, and after the wedding, I do remember how well he dealt with the loss of Redbeard after all.  
I should have put a stop to that whole debacle when he got himself shot. Instead I always did too little too late - how is it NOT MY FAULT?! Tell me Gregory, how is it anyone’s fault but mine?” Mycroft’s voice drifted off after shouting. The wine glass had shattered in his hand when he’d clenched it to a fist. Now blood was dripping from his fingers.

“Stay, don’t move. I’m fetching the first aid kit.”

Mycroft looked at him in astonishment, oblivious to the wound he’d just caused himself. 

“I swear if you have moved when I’m back I’m calling Anthea in for back-up.”

Lestrade was back in record time. “OK now you’re going to sit over here - hold that hand up and steady.” He wasn’t a doctor but luckily enough Mycroft wouldn’t need one, it was nothing more than some superfluous cuts and none of the glass was stuck in the hand. Greg cleaned away the blood and bandaged the cuts for now.

“How clumsy of me.”

“Hardly clumsy, more like idiotic,” Greg grumbled. The last week had been exhausting for Mycroft, or if he was honest the last half a year had been, ever since he got that text from John about Sherlock being high. The British Government, the Iceman, Mr. Caring-is-not-an-Advantage had far too much investment in his little brother’s well-being for his own good. 

“What about the list?” He tried to distract Mycroft from the hand.

“It’s a deal we have, every time he uses, he makes a list, so that if he loses consciousness the doctors or I will have something to work from. I only ask after it when he shows signs of OD’ing. If I asked after it every time I caught him using, he would have given up writing it long ago.” There was a sharp intake of breath as Greg prodded at one of the cuts with iodine.

“Sorry - no, wait, I’m not sorry. You’re an idiot and deserve that disinfectant sting to teach you a lesson.”

“Ah the warmth and care of a lover’s gentle touch, how could I ever live without it?”

“I’m asking myself the same question. How DID you survive without me?”

Lestrade could tell that Mycroft was close to breaking down, a prospect which frankly terrified him. 

“I’m going to make you a sandwich, do you want to wait here or come with me to the kitchen?”

“I already told you I’ve eaten on my way home.”

“And I believe that about as much as I believe Sherlock’s claims of omnipotent Darth Mycroft. Now what shall it be, here or kitchen?”

Mycroft swallowed. “I think I’ll come with you if you put it like that.”

In the kitchen the British Government sat down at the table while Greg started raiding the fridge. “And just for the record, Mycroft Holmes, your brother is an actual adult even if he hardly ever behaves that way. He shot a man. He decided to take drugs. As long as I’ve known you two, you’ve always tried your best to help but you can’t live his life for him.”

Two very weary eyes watched the food preparation. “I’m not sure I can keep that down, Gregory.”

“It’s only a bit of cream cheese and cucumber. You need to eat something, love.”

Mycroft’s head shot up at that term of endearment. Gregory never called him that outside the bedroom. He took the offered sandwich and ate it slowly, very aware of the eyes watching him all the while. As long as he ate, there was peace and quiet. At least Gregory only forced him to face one impossible thing at a time. When he was finished after what seemed like an eternity, Greg took the plate and put it in the dishwasher. He shook his head slowly as he returned to the table. “I think you are the only person I know, My, who gets drugged and then blames themselves. I always thought you were supposed to be too clever for something that stupid.”

Hearing those words, spoken with obvious affection and care, Mycroft buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on the kitchen table as he began to cry.

Silent sobs were shaking his shoulders but no sound escaped him, For the tiniest moment Greg was frozen in helplessness. He knew better than anyone that Mycroft Holmes was a human being and like every human he had a breaking point but he’d never thought he’d actually see him reaching it. The moment was over quickly though. Lestrade slipped over to his lover’s side and pulled him into an embrace. At first Mycroft stiffened. He was the Iceman, he was untouchable, in a moment like this he hid, curled in on himself and only came out again once he’d regained control. But this was Gregory. Gregory who understood him and saw his flaws as well as his strength and accepted all of it - the whole package. So maybe he could allow himself to relax. Maybe he could draw strength from him once again. Mycroft relaxed into the embrace and buried his face into Greg’s shoulder. Lestrade wished that he could do something to help the man in his arms, wished that he could tell him that everything would be alright - but Mycroft Holmes even at his lowest wouldn’t fall for simple lies. So all he could do really was holding him while the tears were wetting his shirt, while Mycroft, in his own silent way bared his soul to him.

“I’m here, My, I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading - this is the last bit until series 4 comes around because any kind of epilogue would probably be contradicted by onscreen stuff later.


End file.
